It was just another lazy summer afternoon for the beast of bronze and bistre. There were many a contented doze behind him, taken in the shade of the many trees that scattered themselves here and there across the rolling hills and many ridges of the dale. Yet, in the same moment, he hadn't been quite as... relaxed as he'd been during the winter months that were long since forgotten. In fact, while he still hadn't given up taking his afternoon naps and indulging the the sweet patches for wild strawberries that he was able to find and keep myself to himself save for whatever woodland critters might have come across his tasty treasures, he'd been surprisingly diligent in monitoring the borders and refreshing the marks as the boss's musk faded. What was it that had triggered this change from the metaphorical couch potato happy to let the boss man handle the border patrols and gathering of pretty faces? Why, none other than the return of his darling dove when he'd fully expected for things to go down in a much, much different way.

He'd thought he would have had to hunt for her. When the unearthly storm that caused Mist Meadows to be forever swallowed by the suffocating fog that still to this day draped itself just behind the peaks to to this hehe eastern border of the dale, the deviously handsome lusitano stallion had gotten himself into a relatively lazy rut, happily wasting have days away grazing and napping strolling leisurely between his favorite spots within the dale. The thought had surfaced to his forethoughts as the days progressed after the storm and he had yet to see the beautiful silvered skin and angelic feathered wings of his dove. He'd been content to let her taste her freedom for a time, although he'd certainly had intentions of finding and recovering her to his side once again before spring came. Then, one day, out of the blue, his nape had been interrupted by the sultry yet sharp lyrics of the voice that always filled him to the brims with white eith desire. In the end, she'd been the one to do the hunting - not that it had been hard to track down the spanish stallion who hardly ever ventured beyond the dale once he'd secured his place as the beta stallion. Their reunion had been... different. Surprising, even. She'd shaken free of the meek little aura that she'd worn almost disdainfully in his presence and blossomed into something fiery with a newfound strength that left him figuratively drooling over her moreso than he ever had. Sure, she'd been made his innumerable times and he was quite possessive of Larka before, but the new Larka was something so much more intoxicating, so arousing. And oh, how he enjoyed it.

A wolfish grin plays across his whiskered maw as he moved along the along one of the many ridges near the borders of the dale as his thoughts carried him to the spring. He'd taken her beneath him time and time again in delicious fits of lust and want, and never did his darling dove disappoint him. If anything, he'd almost venture to say that as much as her new fire seemed to portray her dislikes for his constant acts of wild and insatiable desire for the feel of her skin against his, the sweet scent of hers that left him filled with endless vigor and interest and hunger, she never seemed to fight it. Not like he she once had, and certainly not with the same helpless surrender after he'd managed to break her and metaphorically clip those pretty wings of hers. Now, she demanded his full attentions, never seeming to give him a chance to slip away and see if he might get a taste of the bachelor's life he'd once led before unknowingly settling for the family life. Never had he considered himself a family guy and never had he intended on finding such a lifestyle. Yet, as much as he would never outwardly admit it, he wanted to keep Larka happy - which in and of itself seemed to be an endless mission. He tried being more involved with their daughter Amaretto who was growing into quote the beautiful young maiden. And as time wore on and spring shifted to summer, he noticed Larka's sides swelling once more with child. Inwardly he groaned at the thought of another child, yet it was the price to be paid for the indescribable sensations and pleasure that came with procreation, and it was a price he had accepted.

It was the anxious cries of his daughter not far off that alerted him to something he knew was a long time comin', and so with effortless ease in every powerful stride, chiseled and seasoned muscle rippling beneath his dappled skin of bronze and bistre, he moved towards the commotion at a brisk and strong trot. Onyx banners streamed out behind him in a summer breeze thar brushed against his musculature, picking his way with calculated precision down the ridge and towards the scent of blood and birth, twin peaks pressed forward as mocha gaze searched for the delicate figures he expected to see in the distance soon. It is when he sees a grotto in the distance that he catches a glimpse of Amaretto disappearing down a winding path through the trees. He does not slow his pace until he reaches the trail that was heavy with the scent of his daughter and Larka. Only then does he slow to a careful walk, moving along the path, until soon his gaze falls upon them. He stops for a moment to take in the scene; the ethereal and enticing steering glow of his dove, the pretty and petite figure of Amaretto... and at Larka's side, standing on unsteady legs as she nurses hungrily, a pearlescent filly with her mother's wings. His newest daughter. He feels an alien sense of pride fill his broad chest as he dared to move to stand before his darling dove. He turns to study Amaretto before extending his muscled and arched nape out to the girl as he reached for her to brush his nose lightly against her cheek in greeting before he turned to trace along the delicate curve of Larka's cheek in possessive affection - yes, actual affection much to his surprise.

"She's beautiful, just like her mother."

His baritones usher forth smoothly, like silk and honey as he stands there and admires the newborn filly. She certainly took after her stunning mother, but who might she take after in personality? Only time would tell, wouldn't it? He is silent as he stands there now, in a moment that years ago he never thought he'd find himself in. While he'd been a lover many, many times before, never had be actually been a father. A specimen doner, sure... But never a father. Yet, here he was.


__________________________________________

I'LL GIVE YOU FEELINGS
THAT YOU WON'T WANNA FIGHT
__________________________________________

Bastille

Stallion

9 years

Lusitano

Seal Brown Cream (Brown Buckskin) [image!]

Two hind socks, thin blaze in the shape of a jagged lightning bolt, starting in a pointed star in the center of his forehead and ending in a thick snip between his nostrils.

Ee/A^ta/nCr/nSpl